branching protoplasmic

T.P.I.T.D's/

 

 

 

Mother grew sweet potatoes

where the garage  use to sit.

Burned, you can still see

scorched nails acting as a dangerous pathogen.

 

In the ICU

of calming sandy soil

a worm sometimes emerges

that the shovel cut in half's

 

the way I wish my ending will come, apart,

unbeknownst with rumors flying.

Not knowing dana head from dana

tail; sentiment from a belly of lamb

smothered long;

 

happy to be invading the tissue

of the liver of cattle. O, to be

carried about, nestled with the beautiful ones

who give off milk and good sex.

Not when you ask

 

but on cattle command. Bull demonstration.

Give me some on this mud floor!

Make love to me unceasingly!

Reach into my dreams.

Reviews

[Tree]

This journey you took me on was a long, and vast one. I see and feel your mind working; splitting atoms, splitting worms, splitting people; dissecting, a soul... Still digesting the ramifications of this poem. A poem I will come back to throughout the day, and that ending, that ending was evocative...

Well done.

[Marie Anzalone]

Complete annihilation always seemed to me the more humane approach to half-living anyway. You have unapologetically tapped into one of my unspoken desires, as a woman: that I can ask for someone to make love to me, unceasingly. Is that not, in all of its forms, where we do come apart the most? Heads and tails do nto matter, what matters in the end, maybe, is the urgency and pacing and profundity of the act. A good mental seductive f**k far outweighs a mediocre physical thrusting in my book. Make love to someon's spirit, and they will be yours forever, I think. Maybe it is blasphemy, but I think if we make love with enough finesse in this world, God forgives us our minor trespasses, remembering his own.

Sorry for the ramble. :-)

[Horizon K.]

...the way I wish my ending will come, apart,
unbeknownst with rumors flying...

I think about what it takes, to regrow anything, in places where something that lived before has died-- in desolate fields haunted by the burnt down foundations created by former dreams and former loves...
Should we even try? For no fragment or sliver can ever fill that space except in superficial ways, that when reexamined -- have no weight yet leave thier own vain scars... But when the profound arrives-- we have to be ready, to accept it for what it is... That rare and beautiful thing, that can reach into your dreams...

[Matching Socks]

What a lesson this has been, both educational and enlightening.

My interpretation (which I'm sure is way off!) is that someone stuck a nail through your heart and nearly killed it because silly girl hadn't remembered her tetanus shot expired!
But she'll live, cuz she's a fighter and has someone of milk and honey to nurture and care for her, so that she may live and love again!

[W.k.kortas]

The seamless interweaving of the end of our days with the worms who go in and the worms who go out (envying the worms, can you imagine?) is just flat-out brilliance, nothing less. The piece begins with burnt-out non-existent garages and ends with love, love "unceasingly" at that, and the transitions are subtle, almost intangible, and yet the movement from "dangerous pathogens" to the utter affirmation of the final two lines is complete. I would sell my mother to the gyspies to be able to write something like this.

[Cory Barrett]

Becoming a pathogen never sounded so good.

[writing mojo]

hit every bit of my exoskeleton value with this piece...I prefer to dig in more like you and see where burros start...excellent piece again my friend